Giving - Art or Curse?

Before I begin my post, I must apologize for not posting sooner. The fact that it's been about a month or so since the last time clearly illustrates that my road was paved with good intentions but I've obviously gotten off track. So much for keeping busy with this rather than withdrawing and hibernating for the winter.

Today I'd like to write about the art of giving (or sometimes what I refer to as the curse of giving).  Whether giving is an art or a curse truely is a matter of perspective.  Part of the reason why I haven't written sooner was because by the end of the holiday season I met with that inevitable brick wall. The season of giving often leaves me feeling jaded and empty mostly because what people really need to give is some time and compassion all year rather than racing out to see who can buy and give the biggest and best gifts once a year.

Anyhow, I digress. My distaste for Christmas is not really the purpose of this post. The purpose of this post is to discuss my struggle with the need to give and help without having a breakdown a couple times a year. 

Perspective - J.Walker © 2011

All of my life I have been a "helper" or "people-pleaser". I feel compelled to "fix" things or make people feel better about themselves. All I have ever wanted is for everyone to find joy and happiness. The problem is, I and those like me, often end up sacrificing something else entirely; we lose ourselves.

About once a year, I seem to reach a breaking point. I haven't figured out how to avoid it yet but it's usually around November when the Christmas season is ramping up and we're settling in to some cold weather and possibly dealing with the first snowfall.

Since accepting a new position at work, I have had little opportunity to do what I do best; make people feel better and help someone who needs me.  My goal for 2012 is to find some volunteer opportunities to feed this part of my personality. 

But here's where I struggle with the art vs. the curse of caring.  I am an absolute sponge for others' emotions.  I carry their hurts and their struggles like they are my own.  It's not necessarily a good trait to have, especially as a nurse, but I do own it and know that I have to try to safeguard against negativity or the strife of others.

I am reading a Tammy Hoag novel called, "Secrets to the Grave" right now and in it, there is a character who is a child advocate for the legal system.  She is currently trying to support a twelve year old boy who stabbed one of his classmates and the lawyer working for the boy is trying to remind her that boys like him more often than not, are beyond help and that she needs to stop investing so much emotion.  The lawyer says to her, "Anne, you need to learn the difference between sympathy and empathy.  One makes you a humanitarian.  The other will make you miserable."

Laying there soaking in the tub this morning, I had a lightbulb moment.  Why hadn't anyone told me that before?  I'm not really sure how to be a humanitarian without being miserable.  How do I remove my own emotion or stop soaking up others' emotions but yet still hold on to the sensitive soul that I am?

I know for certain that I have several traits of an empath but to go so far as to say I am an empath, well that's quite a leap.  I don't think it's something I can block out especially when they teach you in nursing school that empathy is an important piece to being a good nurse.  But when I'm in public I can sense the negativity around me, I am often overwhelmed by the strife of others', people open up to me when unsolicited and I feel compelled to help those in pain.  When there is tension in any way, or I feel like someone is displeased with me in any way, I shrink back and retreat.  I NEED to make people happy.

Either way, I need to find balance.  What usually happens is that I get so overwhelmed with being a  giver, fixer, helper, empathizer, sympathizer, I end up throwing my hands up in the air and yelling, "ENOUGH".  It's not that I don't want to be all of those things but I often feel that it's thankless.  A few days of tears is usually all it takes to get back on track but then there are those times that I truely seek an escape.  Curling up in a ball and blocking out the world is not a healthy way of dealing with it but it seems to work.

This year, I am going to work on that.  If you have any suggestions, let me know.  I don't even know where to begin.

Shake Your Groove Thang!

Have you ever said, "I don't dance", "I can't dance", or "I will save myself the embarassment"?

Do you think you may just look like this when you dance?

 OH MY!

Well, I have one question for you.  Does it really matter?

Ever since I was a kid I have LOVED to dance.  I never took dance lessons or anything like that.  I would make up my own dance routines on my driveway to whatever casette tapes I got my hands on - Michael Jackson's Thriller until it got chewed up beyond repair, Aretha Franklin's "Who's Zoomin' Who?" was a fave and then about grade 5 it was replaced by Paula Abdul and Debbie Gibson.

Dance has evolved over the years from a way of enducing a trance like state before going into battle, to a form of worship, to what is more or less a form of expressing joy and having fun in present day society.

So folks, I'm asking you.  When was the last time you danced and did you have fun doing it?  Some might say that they didn't because they thought they were bad at it and people were watching but what happens when you're by yourself and suddenly you're boogeying and belting out a tune in the privacy of your own home?

IT'S FUN! 

I don't know if I'm good at dancing or not but it's not something that even plays on my mind and I advise you to do the same.  It is not often that adults can let loose and have a good time but when opportunity arises you must seize it.  And a word of warning, if I'm around I am relentless and WILL get you up on the dance floor.

So this Christmas season, take the opportunity to throw caution to the wind and live a little.  Dance like nobody's watching!

P.S.  An eggnog or two might help get you up on the dance floor!

Beautiful Part 1: The Price of Beauty - What Are You Willing To Pay?

This is the first of at least two blog entries about beauty.  There are a lot of pressures on our youth and on ourselves to be beautiful, thin, and smart.

I had a conversation with my brother the other day that went something like this:

Him:  I'd rather be bulimic than fat.  No, actually anorexic.  I don't want to be a barfbag.
Me:  Um, trust me, no you wouldn't.
Him:  It's way easier to put on weight than it is to lose weight.

And the debate continued until I got so annoyed I couldn't even talk anymore.  How could he know how much his comments were hurting me?  Nobody knew until well into my recovery that there was even a problem.  In fact, very few know now - not even my family (I  guess they may learn if they ever stumble across this blog but I guess that's ok).

So what was I/am I willing to pay?  At the time, it seemed like a pound of flesh and I was happy with that.

Food - My Love/Hate Relationship

My love/hate relationship with food began in middle school.  I was always the kid who got picked on.  To this day, I will never understand it.  I perceived myself as thoughtful and kind and just another average kid.  Sure, I didn't wear designer clothes or cover my locker with posters of teenaged heartthrobs but was that enough to be called horrible names?

One of the names that always cut deeply was "fat".  Now let me preface this paragraph with the fact that I was in no ways fat.  There were a few kids much bigger than I.  But I believed them.  As adults, we truely understand that during puberty girls get a nice layer of chub before it's redistributed but as a young woman in the throes of all of those changes, you don't think about that.

The summer between grade 8 and grade 9 was a breaking point of sorts.  I had this tiny little muffin top that I loathed even though I was slim (approx. 120lbs at 5'5" - totally perfect if you ask the MD).  My dad had always made "harmless" comments about heavier people but one day my dad made a comment about that "blubber".  I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, he was just making a silly joke, but it was like a knife to the heart.

My childhood was not rosey and while my brother chose to get attention by acting out, I chose to get attention by trying to attain perfection.  To think of myself as less than perfect in my father's eyes was abhorrent and that just would not do.

I had always gotten a lot of exercise - playing sports, riding my bike everywhere in the city, and I didn't eat a lot of junk food so I was really stumped at how I could possibly lose weight.  I felt like I had been doing everything that normal people did.  That was when I started to deprive myself.

It didn't take long to realize that I was not cut out to be anorexic.  I couldn't stand the hunger pangs, the smells, and I did not have the self control to not put food in my mouth.  That was when it dawned on me that I could still smell and taste and touch the food I craved and not gain weight.  At first, I would just chew it up and spit it out into a napkin at dinner but when I started to get paranoid that it was getting obvious I forced myself to swallow.

Soon, I was worshipping the porcelain god.  I would eat my meals and then disappear to the bathroom.  And then the hunger and nausea and light-headedness would set in.  I was so hungry.  Oh binging, this is where it came in.  As much as I would fight it, I would get so hungry at times that I would just eat everything I could get my hands on.  This worked out well because I worked at a convenience store and access to sooooooo many foods that I could shove into my mouth.

It finally dawned on me that I had a problem one day in health class.  I don't know why or how but I saw it for what it was.  I went to a sexual health clinic knowing that it was anonymous and they gave me some literature but told me that I needed to tell my parents.

That prospect scared me straight.  They had so much on their plate already and I could not be another source of concern.  I joined an anonymous support group and out of sheer will, I started to eat again and keep it down.  I guess I'm oversimplifying here but suffice it to say, it was a struggle.

Long-term effects?  Well thankfully because it wasn't a long period of time I was able to avert a lot of the permanent damage.  But the enamel on my teeth is destroyed and my gag reflex is always on hair trigger.  It's like I have muscle memory.  Whenever I'm cleaning the toilet or bend down to get something I've dropped on the bathroom floor, I heave.  I'm also convinced that is why my morning sickness was so horrendous when I was pregnant with my daughter.

What's worse is that I've now gone in the completely opposite direction.  I don't think about what I put in my mouth and the effect it has on my health.  On rare occasions, I catch myself binging and have to stop.

 

As far as body image goes, I've learned how to dress this body and feel like I look good in my skin but I still hate seeing photographs of myself.  And I know that I am not at a healthy weight at this end of the spectrum either.  But now, rather than being motivated by the quest for perfection and pleasing others, I am so happy with myself that I've become inert.  Why care what others think?  I am happy being me (until I see the fat rolls in the mirror, that is).

I guess what I'm trying to say in sharing all of this is that words hurt.  They leave indellible marks on you.  The things that people said to me in middle school really made in impact on my life long-term.  And it is society,  media, and the quest for perfection and beauty that is programming our children to think that they cannot accept anyhing less.

Don't fall for it.  Beauty must come from within.  Your health is not worth the price.

Check out this video/song.  The first time I heard it I collapsed into a heap and sobbed.  It was my fight:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RcZ-xDowBsY

NOTE:  Any photos in this blog are not mine except the one below.

Bleeding Hearts - J.Walker © 2011

If you are struggling with eating disorders, I recommend the book, Letting Go of Ed:  A Guide to Recovering From Your Eating Disorder, by Pippa Wilson.

http://www.amazon.ca/Letting-Go-Ed-Recovering-Disorder/dp/1846946980/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1323639585&sr=8-2

Photography - The Full 360°

Photography?  Who needs it!  Apparantly I do.

My first "ah ha" moment came in June on my birthday when my very dear friend (sister from another mister), Roberta gave me a new bridge digital camera.  For those of you who don't do cameraspeak, it means it has lots of manual features but not completely manual and has lots of fun buttons and doodads.  I don't think she ever really thought about the meaning behind the gift, just "someone who deserves nice things should have nice things".  It meant so much more than that to me.

Since I was old enough to talk I had wanted to become a nurse.  I had derived a great sense of pleasure from helping others.  Then came high school.  I took a photography class and fell in love.  There was something so magical about creating an image, watching it come to life in the developing tray.  The teacher of that photography class became a great inspiration and I will forever be grateful to John Shoveller for encouraging me and believing in me even when I didn't.  Unfortunately, he is no longer with us but what I wouldn't give to hear his stories and laughter.  The photos that he gave me are a cherished reminder of what a wonderful mentor he was.

By time applications for college were coming due, I had long convinced myself that I could never do a "book course" in college because I just wasn't smart enough (even though I was practically a straight A student) and so, it made logical sense to me to take an art course.

I moved to London and went to Fanshawe and I quickly learned that I didn't want to do their stupid assignments.  I just wanted to take photos of what I wanted.  I hated physics and no matter how hard I tried I could not remember equations.  I hated art history because I could not remember dates.  I hated portrait photography because I hated dealing with humans (I know, I know, kinda weird given how much I like helping people).  By the end of it all I failed one class and didn't graduate and my self-esteem was at an all-time low.  I had never failed a class in my life.  I remember calling my parents just sobbing feeling utterly ashamed.  How could I try so hard and still not come out on top? 

I left Fanshawe in April 1999 feeling devoid of inspiration, filled with frustration, and weighted down with a sense of failure and defeat.  Every time there was any sort of party or occasion, "Jen will take the pictures, she's the one trained to do it."  I never got to enjoy anything because I was the "documenter".  I grew resentful of the camera I had once loved.  I truely felt that anyone who tried to take their passion and make it their career was headed for heartbreak.  College and all that was associated with it had made me hate the camera. 

Come October, I discovered I was going to be a mommy and that was the end.  I took snapshots of my daughter but nothing remotely artistic and when I look at the photos I am filled with a sense of longing to turn back the clock and redocument everything from birth til now.    The reality though, was that my desire to take photos had waned since having my daughter. 

After that life just happened.  Welcome to the digital age.  The year after I left school everything in the program turned 100% digital.  Life was changing and what I had learned would be obsolete anyways.  I would've had to go back and relearn everything about digital photography.  By time my daughter was one, I was a single mom, depressed, demoralized and just plain tired and soon I hardly ever thought about photography anymore.

Years go by with crappy disposable cameras, and then a digital point and shoot by 2008 so we can take some half decent honeymoon photos (I did not give up on love, YAY ME).  It was great to finally have a digital camera but I grew weary of not being able to have control over the image like I wanted.  I experimented as best I could for awhile until I grew annoyed and once again set the camera aside, only used to take photos to remember special occasions.

My brain became my camera.  Everywhere I looked I was thinking, "If I set the aperature to this I can make it do that" or "If I could just slow the shutter speed down I can make it look like that" or "If I angled the camera this way and the light was coming from that direction...."

Then came that fateful birthday.  Who knew 33 would go down in history as the most memorable birthday ever.  It wasn't about the camera itself.  Roberta had given me a piece of me back.  I know she will never see it that way but I will always think of it like that.  It was saying, "You need to find yourself again".

Now I am on my way again.  I have taken LOTS of photos and am itching to take more.  One thing is for sure though, never again will I put the camera aside and never again will I be boxed in by it either.  This is my passion and I will protect it at all costs.

Carved - J.Walker © 2011

Welcome!

Welcome - J.Walker © 2011

Welcome to my mind.  I'm not sure what will happen with this blog but what I can tell you is that there are always wheels turning in there. 

So why start a blog now?  Good question.  Last week I made a promise to myself that I would find something meaningful to do this winter.  For quite some time I had been letting pieces of myself go without even knowing it.  Being a mommy, wife, friend and nurse means giving almost all of you to others all of the time.  It's exhausting really.  Coupled with my people pleaser attitudes I have come to discover that I had been dangling on a dangerous precipice of total exhaustion in the quest to say yes and maintain a perfect facade.

I've decided that I don't want to do that anymore.  I don't want to simply breathe, I want to live.  Part of doing that is:

 1)  Rediscovering my passions

2)  Sharing my passions 

3)  Keeping busy rather than hibernating and withdrawing

4)  Remembering to believe in myself and never again losing sight of who I am

One step closer....let the fun begin!

"We are like the little branch that quivers during a storm, doubting our strength and forgetting we are the tree - deeply rooted to withstand all of life's upheavals." - Dodinsky